


Petrichor

by Selkit



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, everything is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Petrichor: the smell of rain on the dry ground.

It was still strange, not waking up at the crack of dawn anymore. Even stranger to wake slowly, almost in stages, instead of leaping from his bunk and throwing on his armor in five minutes flat. And the strangest part of all was waking up to the patter of raindrops on the window instead of a shrill alarm or the barking of a drill sergeant. 

He’d only been half-serious, all those years ago, when he’d told Shepard they could retire somewhere warm and tropical and live off the royalties from the vids. Yet even now, the memory still echoed in his mind whenever the rain fell, raising a gentle mist that beaded on his skin and clung to Shepard’s hair. 

He swung his legs out of bed and stood, pausing a moment to listen. All was quiet in the house aside from the rhythm of falling water—not more than a light drizzle, from the sound of it. 

"Shepard?" he called, keeping his voice low enough not to startle her. He padded the short distance down the hallway and stopped, peering into her room. "Hear that? It’s raining."

She turned her head at the sound of his voice, her eyes big and dark in the dim room, but made no reply. Garrus stepped inside and took her hand, talons wrapped lightly around her limp fingers, and gave a gentle tug.

"Come on," he said, making encouraging noises as she slowly got to her feet. "That’s it. You like the rain, remember?"

Shepard stared at him as he led her down the hallway, watching him with the expressionless, unblinking gaze he used to see on his mother’s face, the one that always made him wonder.

_Deprived of oxygen for too long_ , the doctors had said. Her body had been crushed, bones shattered by the debris collapsing around her moments after the Crucible fired its blood-red beam. And though her internal organs had healed and her bones slowly mended, there were some things the human brain couldn’t quite withstand.

"Watch your step," Garrus said when they reached the back door, the way he always did. Shepard dutifully lifted one foot, then the other, and Garrus tightened his grip on her hand as she shuffled through the rain-slicked grass. "Careful," he murmured. "Don’t fall."

Two chairs perched nearby, overlooking the valley cutting through the trees, and Garrus helped Shepard settle in so she was facing the view. He’d never been much for sightseeing, but even he had to admit it was impressive. Peaceful.

He liked to think they’d earned a little peace. 

Shepard leaned back in her chair, her eyes widening, then closing as the misting rain touched her face. She sat motionless, as though frozen in biotic stasis, no movement visible but the rise and fall of her chest as she drew deep, slow breaths.

"Smells pretty good, doesn’t it?" Garrus murmured. "At least until the worms come out."

It was the sort of thing that would have made her laugh, a lifetime ago. Instead she opened her eyes and looked at him, staring for a long, long moment before the corners of her mouth curled up just a little.

Garrus pushed a damp lock of hair off her forehead, and smiled back.


End file.
